


The Sounding Joy

by spamtotz



Series: It's a Good Life [3]
Category: The West Wing
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, as always Donna has to make the first move, lets play the game of is Josh obtuse or unobservant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-09
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-15 09:41:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29931522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spamtotz/pseuds/spamtotz
Summary: Head spinning, Donna claws at several thoughts. Yes, she is okay, more than okay, and... It is far beyond time that he run out of this newly summoned patience, as well. If he wants wooing, he’s going to get wooing. Merry Christmas, Josh Lyman.Donna and Josh spend their first Christmas together as a couple.
Relationships: Josh Lyman/Donna Moss
Series: It's a Good Life [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2053221
Comments: 10
Kudos: 41





	The Sounding Joy

Everything is going exactly according to plan. The toss and donate piles are boxed up and waiting to be taken back downstairs, all of her clothes miraculously fit in the bedroom closet, and Josh finally relented and allowed her to rearrange the furniture. She’s already carved out a seat for herself in front of the fireplace. _Donna’s_ chair. 

It’s incredibly cozy, and there’s just enough room for—

“I want to die.” 

Donna glances up as Josh stomps through the door, frown lines etched deep in his face. 

“Oh, stop it, you big baby,” she says. Honestly, the man would complain if someone told him he won a free car. _Are you going to throw in an extra year of service and maintenance? Yeah, I didn’t think so._ “I told you to lift with your legs. It’s not my fault you decided to grab the box marked ‘heavy stuff’ without looking.” 

“Well, maybe if your labeling was clearer, then _maybe_ I wouldn’t have.” He shoots it back at her with a sour look, eyes narrowing, then drops the last of her boxes in a blatant challenge. 

“Josh, it was written three times in red marker. Did you also want me to set a spotlight on it?” 

Having no reasonable answer for that, he harrumphs and dusts his hands together, the universal sign for _I’m done_. 

Donna smothers her laughter. With the flock-of-seagulls hair and hoodie hanging off of him crookedly, he looks like he came out the other end of a hurricane. Her very own disgruntled Mr. Heat Miser. And how he got it in his head that the problem is Donna’s labeling… That’s the cherry on top of the ridiculous cake that is Josh Lyman. 

Even so... She’s been thinking about him all day—terrible, wanton thoughts—coiling tighter and tighter each time they passed on the stairs. Brushing up against one another, that familiar hand on the small of her back, has brought Donna to the edge of madness. The sweat that dripped down his neck, slicking his hair against his skull, turning it dark brown… She’d drifted off right there on the landing. 

Her Midwestern pragmatism had balked at the idea of hiring someone to move her stuff from one part of town to the other. Now, it seems like a miscalculation.

Josh being all boyfriend-y… Well, it’s turned her brain to mush. 

To preserve her sanity, she’d called it quits by 3 o’clock, settled herself in the chair, and cracked a beer. 

The grin plastered on Josh’s face as he’d explored the new setup, though, finding her military-neat line of suit sets in the closet—plus the beer on an empty stomach—has made her too giddy to actually mind his bad mood. He’s mostly faking it, anyway; he’s just as pleased as Donna that she’s moved in, officially. She can sense it.

Flinging herself backwards in the chair, she says, “‘Tis the season to have my organizational choices mocked, apparently.” She throws a hand over her eyes, pretending to be shocked into a swoon.

When Josh doesn’t react, she curls in on herself and tugs her shirt over her own laugh-smile, tenting it above her nose. He scowls and kicks the last box with his toe, so it shoots across the floor. 

“You’re lucky those are only towels,” Donna says, waggling her foot. The elastic of her sock is so useless, broken and sprouting from the wool, that it almost flies off. She has to yank it back and by the time she looks at him, again, Josh is glaring at her.

She responds in kind, not really understanding why but feeling, _knowing_ , that he deserves it. If not now, then definitely for something he _will_ do. But then Josh’s expression clears, the line between his eyes softening. A smile plays on his lips, and Donna beams back, thinking that, maybe for the first time since she’d arrived in DC, everything has fallen into place. 

Just in time for Christmas. 

Josh has been an _awfully_ good sport today, rolling out of bed somewhere around five-thirty, rubbing his cheek on Donna’s hair, and startling her awake. She suspects it was more to be annoying rather than fondness but had barely been conscious enough to swat him away. Her sleep-addled brain briefly registered that he’d gone, but when she woke up for real two hours later, he’d left a note and his car keys on the nightstand.

_Go get your stuff. Back later to help._

Having her suspicions that he might fall into extra work that needed his attention, Donna had been happily surprised when he’d strolled in right before lunch with a cheerful poinsettia, no computer or file folders in sight. A spike of guilt for questioning how much he’d actually meant it had struck her chest when he’d kissed her hello and pushed the plant in her hands. 

“I think I pulled something in my back,” Josh says, arching and twisting experimentally.

The hoodie tugs across his shoulders. Donna’s eyes glaze over. It’s not like he’s so much taller or that she spent years lusting after him for his muscles or anything, but her body seems to be acting of its own volition, loose-limbed and sluggish. She shakes herself before he notices, passing it off as a shiver. 

“Well, you should have waited for me like I asked you to,” she says, a singsong trill coloring the admonishment. Almost nothing irritates him more than when she’s right and gloats about it. Ironic, really. 

Josh grumbles under his breath and flops face first onto the couch. “Is that a beer I saw in your hand?” he asks, his voice muffled but hopeful. 

“Yes.”

“Is that the last one?”

“Yes,” she says, smug. 

“ _Donna_. Hiding the last beer in the back of the fridge and taking it for yourself is not very nice. Not very Christmas-y.”

She clinks the bottle top against her front teeth, contemplating his prone body. “How would you know? Maybe stealing the last beer is an incredibly Christmas-y tradition that you just haven’t run across, yet, like hanging a pickle on the tree. Besides, I told you we were running low.”

Squinting, Josh looks up at her, his face tight with suspicion, trying to decide if she’s lying or not. Wrinkle marks from the pillow have indented on his cheek, and he looks… God, she could just— 

Donna bites her lip. _The plan_. There’s a plan. There’s wooing to be done, here. 

“You couldn’t have picked up any? You had my car all day.”

She shrugs. “I was busy, today. Sorry.”

“Well, what kind of girlfriend are you? I just moved all of your stuff here. Shouldn’t I get the last beer?” 

Donna knows that he means to sound annoyed with her, but, even though his face is once again smashed in a pillow, she can tell Josh is smiling. It had been marginally embarrassing how thrilled he’d been to introduce her to the Secretary-of-Education-to-be. ‘Hi, this is my girlfriend, Donna Moss.’ He’d been a little too enthusiastic, forgetting they weren’t in a totally social setting... but it’s still nice to hear him say it out loud, even if his reasoning is off.

“There’s a bottle of wine in the kitchen,” she says, taking one last pull of beer. It’s room temperature at best, and all the sediment is settled at the bottom, anyway. “I thought it was a little more Christmas-y.” A little more likely to help her seduce her boyfriend is what it is.

“White?”

“Red.”

Josh makes a disbelieving hooting noise. 

“You were very nice to help me today, so I thought I’d be nice and get your favorite Cabernet.” She knows because she’d had to buy it for what ended up being Josh and Mandy’s last rendezvous. The memory of handing it off, of the fire in his eyes for _Mandy_ , makes her stomach flip. It spoils her once languorous mood, and she sinks a little deeper into her chair, pouting. 

It’s stupid. Hadn’t he chosen her, after all of it? Hadn’t they chosen each other? 

Oblivious, Josh seems to summon a reserve of energy and pushes himself off the couch, groaning. “You want a glass?” 

“Sure.” Donna still hasn’t entirely come around to red, but it seems a shame for Josh to indulge by himself. It is Christmas, after all. 

He confirms she’s watching him, then hobbles away, holding one hand to his lower back, which leads Donna’s eyes to… His butt looks really good in jeans. Really good. She wiggles around like a puppy, thrilled there’s no twinge of guilt associated with thinking that way, anymore.

“What are we eating?” he asks, clattering around in the kitchen.

“Pizza’s already on the way.” She’d also been able to convince Josh’s favorite pizza place to squeeze in one last order before closing time, promising a sizable tip. All part of the ill-defined plan that had manifested itself, like, an hour ago.

Josh leans a hip against Donna’s chair when he returns, a glass of wine in each hand. “What’s going on with you? You have ants in your pants or something?” He chuckles at his own joke. 

Donna is not amused. She’d like to have something else in her—

“By the way, if I so much as smell a black olive,” he says, holding her glass just out of reach, “you’re sleeping on the couch.” 

Not this again… “You _can’t_ smell black olives.”

“ _Yes_ , I can.”

She rolls her eyes and pokes his leg with her foot. “There are no black olives. I promise.” She crosses an x over her heart and then snaps for the wine, eager to stay on the giggly side of tipsy. 

Josh’s eyebrows skyrocket and his nose flares, but he hands over her glass without further argument. 

Donna swirls it around, closing her eyes and inhaling. She’s seen fancy, important people do it at parties and always wondered if they actually knew what they were doing or if it was all performance. They’d muse about the hint of violets or cherries or cloves… blah blah blah. It smells like boozy grapes to her. Plus, if it’s the wrong kind, it can turn her teeth purple, which is a good look for exactly no one. 

Even if she did have purple teeth… She’s pretty sure Josh would still want to kiss her.

When Donna opens her eyes, he’s studying her, his gaze unbearably soft. One of his hands drifts down to her foot, still flat against his leg, fingers tracing to the cuff of her sock and dipping underneath. In any other circumstance, it would be such a staid, unsexy move that she’d laugh, but she’s been aching for his touch for hours, so instead Donna gulps down more wine, a heated blush blooming across her face.

He’s unexpectedly serious, stroking her ankle. She panics, worrying about the last time she last shaved her legs—that did not factor into _the plan_ —but before Donna can get well and truly worked up, Josh retreats and swipes across his mouth, as if to hide a smile. Shifting in her seat from one hip to the other, she’s suddenly aware that her hands are sweaty.

She wipes them off on her thighs.

It’s about time things got moving, anyway. Scooting the ottoman aside, she sits up and slides her feet in the space between his. 

“Why are you looking at me like that?” she asks in a hushed voice, suspicious that he might have had a similarly frustrating day. Maybe the pizza is just overkill at this point, and all it would take is…

Wetting his lips, Josh takes a sip of wine. Donna follows the motion of his Adam’s apple as he swallows. 

“You look happy,” he says, his hand cradling under her chin, now, tickling her cheek with his pointer finger. The corners of his eyes crinkle, those wonderful dimples forming on his face. 

“I _am_ happy. Are you happy?” 

Josh nods, his smile growing, like he knows something she doesn’t.

“Even though you might’ve pulled something in your back?”

He nods again.

Screw the plan. Donna sets her glass on the floor and plucks loosely at his hoodie, beckoning him closer. When he doesn’t move, she twines a hand in the dangling drawstrings, tucks the other into one of his pockets, and tugs with more force. As immovable as Jed Bartlet on the subject of his Thanksgiving turkey, Josh refuses to be pulled down but seems to have caught on to what she wants. 

Good thing, too. The next step involved abandoning seduction altogether and soundly whacking him upside the head. 

Donna admires the line of his neck as he leans across her, carefully sliding his glass where it can’t get knocked over. 

_Finally._

Fanning his hands around her ears, he uses his thumbs to tip her face up and looks at her for a moment, his expression open and just... yearning. As if Donna needed any further convincing. Now that she’s had a taste of it, she would say the sky is purple, that cheeseburgers are best when burnt, if only he would move a little faster. Again, she tugs on his hoodie, her skin feeling stretched over her bones, but he waits, drawing out the moment like a thin wire, and Donna wonders... 

He gets these spells of nervousness, sometimes. His hands will hover until she has to insist, pushing herself into his grip, like he doesn’t quite believe she wants his touch. If only he knew…

“Josh,” she says softly, calling him back from wherever he’d gone.

Blinking to awareness, he swoops down to her in one smooth motion, his mouth hot on hers. There’s enough force behind it that Donna rocks backwards. She lets it carry them until Josh is stretched along her whole body, warm and solid.

She groans in the back of her throat. It’s delicious having his weight push her into the cushions, expelling the air from her lungs. He’s softer these days, in places where before there were sharp angles. The line around his jaw has been blunted a little from the sustained stress and crappy diet. 

It makes no difference. He’s the same Josh.

He gathers her close, kissing her deeply. Donna’s hands instinctively reach for the back of his head, gripping in his hair. It’s not a soft kiss, like on the dance floor at her senior prom, nor is it the sloppy kiss of a man who wants to hurry up and get to the main event. Josh is devastating and thorough, an overachiever if ever there was one. His tongue tastes like the wine—now she’s getting the cherry thing—and she can still smell the clean soap on him from this morning’s shower.

Donna breaks away to brush her lips against his neck, the spot below his ear, because it usually triggers a shiver, makes him twitch. It’s powerful, humbling, knowing that she can have that effect on him, that his body can’t help reacting to her. 

This time, though, his fingers flex around her waist, and he swallows. His face is tucked against her hair until he noses into her cheek, breathing out a laugh when she jerks from the scratch of his prickly stubble. Ever the opportunist, he uses the moment to slip his tongue back in Donna’s mouth, a hypnotic rhythm of press and retreat. 

Floating in a hazy cloud of heat and hunger, a spot in her underwear growing steadily wetter, she wonders if it’s the entire beer and partial glass of wine or Josh that’s making it seem like time has slowed, stretching into a single long moment. All her senses are concentrated on this chair, this man, his body curved around hers. 

The place could burst into flames and it would be half as hot Donna, right now. 

With what remains of her battered faculties, she attempts to take the lead, sneaking one hand under his t-shirt. Josh inhales sharply when her cold fingers stroke in broad swaths over his spine. No doubt he can feel her smiling under his mouth. It’s a small victory, though. With her other hand, she’s struggling to undo his belt. It’s stuck between them, and she’d rather breathe her last than separate from him. 

Her fingers falter when Josh unhooks her bra from underneath her. She’s shocked to a standstill. For whatever reason, she had once expected him to be as clumsy in this arena as he is in the real world. He has some game, thankfully. Even better, he’s a quick learner. 

Still… Donna would really prefer to think of any skills that came before her as natural ability.

“Ants in _my_ pants?” she asks, disbelieving.

Josh kisses her cheek. “Mine too, I guess.”

Impatient, she twines a leg around the back of his calf. He redistributes his weight to her hips, and slowly starts thrusting, the hard ridge in his pants dragging against her. Donna’s eyes slam shut. 

“Oh my God.” 

They’re rocking together, pressed close, no longer kissing. His heavy breathing uneven in her ear, the creaking springs beneath her, the friction of their jeans rubbing—it’s the most exquisite torture and pleasure all at once. 

Josh is unhurried, content to let her break down into a frantic, squirming mess sandwiched between him and her chair. The length of her underwear is wet, now, not just a spot. Donna’s hands flutter, indecisive and too jittery to decide whether to pull him out of his pants or let him continue. She clamps down on him like a vise, trying to increase the pressure, get him to speed up… anything. 

A pulse begins to throb steadily at the base of her hips, and, without warning, a high-pitched yip escapes her. 

Josh withdraws, incredulity curling his mouth.

“No. No, come back,” she says, urgently trying to reel him in with her legs, too aroused to be embarrassed. She’s tingling. From the ends of her hair to her pinky toes, Donna is so alight with desire, she could power a small city, and almost sort of hates Josh for laughing. 

Lips still puckered, she sighs happily when he kisses her, again, resuming the erotic exploration of her patience. 

It’s all heading in the right direction. She really does have the belt just about undone this time. Josh’s hands are creeping under the cups of her loosened bra when they’re interrupted by a tap on the door. He halts his lips in the notch of her neck as the knock rings out a second time, more insistent. 

Donna flops back, ready to scream.

Josh lifts himself, grimacing like he’s in pain, and looks at her regretfully. He’s flushed, his mouth all red, and delightfully disheveled. With one look, exactly how he is now, Donna could get herself over the finish line in a second. She almost allows her hand to drift below the waist of her jeans, but the whole point is that they do this together, have a _nice_ Christmas.

“That… That’ll be the food,” he says, swallowing. 

Oh, God. The stupid pizza. 

“Yeah.” Her voice is hoarse, and she has to lick her lips, pushing herself onto her elbows. “We probably should quit it with the ‘starting something we can’t finish’ thing.” 

Josh drags himself away with a wry smile and backs up towards the door, keeping his eyes on her until the last moment. Donna finds it charming when he has to collect himself, but there are spots of pink on his cheeks that he can’t erase. The outline of his erection is visible, too. He hides the lower half of his body behind the door so as not to permanently scar the delivery guy. 

It’s Christmas. Josh is home, and nothing is going to tear him away until at least tomorrow afternoon. He all but swore to it. They have time. 

She supposes she can let him eat first.

“Pizza,” Josh says, smiling weakly and dropping the box on the coffee table. He skirts around her grabby hands, somehow reaching out on their own, to get plates.

Sighing, Donna slumps, resigned to her temporary fate. Now they’ll have to start again, climb the mountain all over. She hooks the tabs of her bra together, overshooting a couple times, and sticks out a hand to blindly root around for her glass, draining the remaining wine when she finds it. The red is growing on her, honestly, but she runs her tongue around her teeth, just to be sure. 

Josh comes back with the rest of the wine, dinner plates, and napkins. “I thought you might want some more,” he says with a smirk, refilling her glass. 

“Yes,” Donna replies, sullen. She’s just… ugh. Her heart rate is still returning to normal, and she’s uncomfortable in her own clothes, hypersensitive to the pills rubbing on the inside of her shirt, the overly tight confines of her jeans. They were supposed to be scattered around the apartment by now, herself a sweaty mess in Josh’s arms. 

He snorts. She looks up at him, hopeful that he’s been able to read her mind, but he just shakes his head and shuffles over to the couch, organizing everything so it fits on the table. Inhaling when he opens the box, a different kind of pleasure rippling across his face, Josh holds out a plate. 

“Pizza?” 

Stepping over to him with an extra swing to her hips, Donna takes it. 

“I told you there were no black olives,” she says, triumphantly dropping into his lap and throwing an arm around his shoulder, eager to get back to the plan. She thinks she’s almost won, successfully diverted him from the food, when he gives her another indulgent, thorough kiss, but it’s only the one. Disconcerted, her brows draw together, and she cracks an eye open to see what the problem is.

“You’re right, but you…” Josh says, pushing on her shoulder until she tumbles off him, a full cushion-length away. “You need to stay over there. I need to eat, regain my strength.” As if on cue, his stomach rumbles. “See?” 

Donna curses herself for being so prepared, glaring daggers at her own hands, even if she is kind of hungry. Fine. On to the next phase. Sitting cross-legged, she grabs herself a slice. It burns her tongue, but when she bites down, there’s a burst of sweet from the tomato sauce and salt from the pepperoni, and _oh_ the crunch... Josh is scarfing his down like he hasn’t eaten in a decade. 

Despite his less-than-appealing pizza guzzling, she shamelessly licks the grease off her fingers, knowing it might pique his interest. Mid-slice, Josh does stare, his eyes wide, but he doesn’t make a move for her.

The lack of urgency is getting old, fast.

“I got you a Christmas present,” Donna says after a few more bites. 

He shifts in his seat, looking uncomfortable; he wasn’t expecting anything, she’s sure of it. As his one-time direct report, Donna had only ever given him stuff to use around the office. She’d told him that she was gift enough when he’d complained about the desk organizer of 2002. He’d promptly delivered it to the communications bullpen, and, ultimately, Donna reclaimed it for herself.

“I don’t celebrate Christmas, Tiny Tim.” 

“I _know_ ,” she says, huffy now. He’s so pedantic. “Fine then… It’s a late Hanukkah present if that works better for you.” She leans over the arm of the couch for it. Josh seizes her ankle to stop her from falling onto the floor and tugs her up when she has trouble righting herself, a knowing smile crossing his face. Donna is not drunk. She’s not. “I found you an assistant.” She tosses the folder over to him.

Josh nudges it open to read sideways, chewing slowly. “Cheryl Nguyen?”

“I interviewed her, but she’s perfect for you. She was the executive assistant for—” 

“Okay.”

Donna makes a face, disappointed. She had a whole spiel, ready to rattle off a memorized list of Cheryl’s responsibilities at the Pentagon and her time spent working with Nancy McNally and why she would be a suitable replacement for Margaret, for Donna herself even. She had a spiel.

“That’s it? You’re… saying yes just like that?”

Josh eyebrows rise in a question, like he’s surprised by her surprise. “Donna, if you say she’s good, I’ll meet her as soon as we can get it in the books. You’re the resident expert on… me, so you’re the right person to figure out who I’d work best with. Aren’t you? I mean… I know how to pick ‘em, clearly,” he says with his chest puffed out, indicating with his chin that he means her, “but I trust you.”

Donna takes a fortifying swallow of wine.

She would be less astonished if she’d seen a streaker dance the tango down Pennsylvania Avenue. Josh trusts her. For the longest time after she’d quit, he had been so adamant, insistent that she’d abandoned him, that she was no longer worth trusting. To have it restored and have him say it so frankly, it’s… She could almost cry from relief.

But no. This is no time for tears.

“You really do know how to pick them,” she says, reaching to tiptoe her fingers up his chest. “You’re so powerful… and handsome.”

Josh plucks her hand off, startled, his arm stretching out to stop her from springing back. “Donnatella Moss,” he says, confused delight lacing his voice. “Are you trying to seduce me?”

“Oh, thank God. You finally noticed.” 

He bites back most of a smile but keeps his arm between them. “You were being pretty obvious.”

Of course. Playing dumb, his specialty. “Then why did you let this go on for so long if you knew?” She moves closer to trail up the seam of his pants. “Why not move things to the—” 

Clamping her hand tight against his knee, Josh’s eyes cut to the side in warning before she gets anywhere interesting. 

It’s all she wants, whatever is behind that warning. It’s why she came up with _the plan_. He’s been soft with her—too soft—almost tentative, like she’d float away from him if he pushed too hard. Donna wants him to lose it, wants to feel his hands grab for her or rip her shirt open or something.

He shrugs, toying with his zipper tab. “I don’t know… I’ve never been wooed before. It’s kind of nice,” he says with a small smile.

She blinks at him, stunned as though she’d run headlong into a brick wall. Oh no. She knows the trouble Josh usually has with women, identifying just sex versus relationship and what to do after. He’d confessed to it when they got back from vacation, but this is so… tragic, so much more serious. There’s a gaping pit in her stomach, nothing to do with the pizza, gnawing at her. Josh deserves to be cherished, too, coaxed out of whatever this funk is. 

It endears him to her all the more, and the plan gets tossed right in the trash.

“How’d I do?” Donna asks, her voice thick with emotion. “For your first time?” Setting their plates and glasses aside, she walks on her knees across the couch to him. No more grabby hands or teasing. She unfurls herself in his lap and kisses his temple, wrapping around him to hug him as close as she can. Her heart pounds with affection for this silly, silly man. 

His breath disturbs her hair when Josh exhales roughly. “Really… Really good.” 

“Do you think,” she says, whispering into his cheek and running her fingers over his back, “that you could stand a little more?”

Josh nods against her. 

“Oh, good.” 

He sniggers.

Donna presses a kiss to his laughing mouth, then to the dip in his chin, letting her eyelashes flutter against his skin. Backing up to sit on his knees, she swirls her hands up and down his front, occasionally drifting past his stomach to scratch against the tops of his thighs. Josh’s half-lidded eyes are trained on her face, his arms extended along the back of the couch. He’s not moving at all. The only indication that he’s feeling anything resembling excitement is when he sucks in his cheeks. 

Good. This will be infinitely better if he’s at the same level of tension as Donna. 

Unbuckling his belt, she pulls it from his waist and drops it to the floor with a heavy clunk. As far as she’s concerned, the best place for the stupid thing is right next to her plan, in the garbage. Next comes his hoodie, unzipping and pushing it over his shoulders until they’re chest to chest. He’s just in his thin t-shirt, watching her, looking a little vulnerable. Each time they’ve been together, Donna has picked up more of the signals for what he likes, when he twitches in her hands or silently pulls her away before he gets too excited, but mostly she’s been focused on furiously making up for the lost time. 

He likes her to be soft with him. That much she has guessed. 

“Still good?” she asks, running her palms up and down his arms, being particularly gentle over the ticklish insides of his elbows. 

Josh clears his throat, eyes glassy. “I… uh. Uh huh.”

“Excellent.” 

This time it’s a light peck on his lips, but she scoots herself much closer to feel the quicker, shallower movement of his chest when she tilts his chin to kiss along his jaw. For a full minute, Donna thinks he’s really going to be a bystander in all this, pleased enough that his hands have drifted to rest politely on her hips. When she flicks her tongue over the shell of his ear and whispers his name, though, that’s when he sparks to life. 

Fumbling hands tug at her shirt. They laugh together, nervous, at the awkward moment when the shirt collar gets stuck around her head. Goosebumps break out on Donna’s skin. The apartment is chilly from running in and out all afternoon, but when Josh’s shirt soon follows, she snaps back to him like a rubber band, warm against cold. For some glorious reason, he runs hotter than she does. 

Mesmerized, he stares greedily at the swell of her breasts, reaching for her. His warm breath puffs across her face as he comes closer, but he surprises Donna for the second time, kissing her shoulder and stretching around her for the clasp of her bra, instead.

“Maybe we should, um… You know,” Donna says in a shaky voice, jerking her head toward the bedroom. 

Josh’s hands pause. “Yeah, right.” 

“Oh!” 

Abruptly, he sweeps her into his arms, holding her a couple inches off the ground, and walks down the hall. It’s usually her leading, an eager Josh in tow, but now she’s burrowed in his neck, her legs swaying with every step like chimes in the breeze. He’s bent backwards to compensate for her weight on his front.

“Don’t hurt your yourself, again,” she says in warning. “Put me down. I can walk.” Donna is tall enough that it’s a rare lover who can carry her anywhere, and there’s maybe a forty percent chance Josh wasn’t kidding before about pulling something in his back. Not that she doesn’t appreciate the effort, but…

“Excuse me,” he says with a less-than-scary glare. She’d gotten over disgruntled Josh years ago. Plus, it’s not so intimidating with his erection pressed between them. “Who’s the man, here?”

“You are.” As if that actually means anything.

“Yes.”

“Yes,” she says breathily, trying to elucidate by rubbing herself against him. There’s not quite enough leverage… 

He kisses her, short and sweet, then kicks the door open, dropping her on the bed so she bounces. Anxious to be rid of her now painfully uncomfortable clothes, Donna shimmies out of her jeans and socks and kicks them away before wiggling gracelessly out of her underwear. Josh might try to mess around with her bra for a third time, and, honestly, she’d prefer to leapfrog that step. 

Seemingly on the same page, she turns in time to watch his pants crumple to the floor. She props herself up on an elbow, asking him to come closer with the crook of a finger. It’s about the meagerest temptation she can imagine, except for the naked part, but Josh lurches forward like he’s a puppet, and Donna is the one pulling his strings. 

Light cuts in from the hallway, so his face is cast in shadows as he advances, his eyes glittering. He switches on the lamp, the room bathed in yellow, then peels off his boxers and climbs in bed.

Donna doesn’t mind the light so much when he’s the person she gets to see. He’s always had a certain… pallor, and any sign of the tan he’d acquired on vacation is gone, no line around his waist to show that he’d once worn shorts in the sun. There’s so much of Josh, too. She’s woozy seeing all of his skin at once, drunk on it even beyond the wine—the sprinkling of hair on his chest, the lines dipping down to his narrow hips…

For years, she had only imagined what he might look like, and now she gets unfettered access. The same amazement is mirrored in his eyes as he looks back at her.

After as torturous a day as Donna has ever experienced, Josh is at last next to her and hard against her thigh, fairly vibrating with tension. He gazes down her body, looking unsure and young, the lines on his face gone slack. In these strange moments, it’s all she can do to hold herself back. He can’t possibly know that she finds anxious Josh, embarrassed Josh, uncertain Josh the most compelling. She’s already familiar with the bravado, the victory crow. Bored Josh, hungry Josh, furious Josh. She knows them.

Whatever the reason—and Donna will figure it out one day—his hesitation dissolves when she reaches for him, latching an arm around his neck. 

The anticipation of this, almost, _almost_ has been worth it.

He sighs, his breath fluttering in her hair, and skims a hand along her waist, taking a firmer hold around her hip to tip her onto her back. Drifting down to her chest, Josh presses his lips to her heart and closes his eyes. Overcome, Donna watches in wonder as he mouths over her breasts. She threads her hands through the thick hair at the back of his head to tether herself to him. 

Can a person fracture into a million pieces from feeling?

With his clever fingers, Josh circles around one of her nipples. The pink tip peaks at his delicate touch and soon his tongue is there, moist and hot against the thin skin. He looks up at her, checking for the first signs of a feverish breakthrough, and gives her a brazen squeeze with as much of a smirk as he can manage. 

Donna’s eyes roll back in her head when those same fingers drift between her breasts, down her belly, and caress the creases of her thighs, the soft parts of her, almost entirely ignoring her clit at first. Feather-light teasing everywhere but. 

Her heels dig into the bed as he gains momentum, lifting up her hips, forcing Josh to press down on her stomach. His fingerprints might be burned into the skin there.

The waves of arousal that had been allowed to peter out before lick through Donna, now, and that’s when her brain short circuits, any thought beyond Josh fizzling. The scratchy rasp of his stubble on her skin, the warm trail his tongue is leaving on her breasts. She gasps when he bites down on her nipple, heat prickling under her skin. 

“ _Josh_.” 

The smirk reappears.

Sparks of pleasure catch like a match to gunpowder, flaring bright. Donna hums as he swaps his attention to her other breast, and her hips follow in the wake of his touch. Before this year, she could have explained the particular curl of Josh’s fingers. Now she knows what it is to be at the mercy of those fingers, the acute pleasure they can wring from her. 

He keeps up his maddening rhythm, moving in tighter and tighter circles, then loose figure eights, sporadically grazing the spot she’s desperate for him to press. 

Quite without her permission, Donna’s back arches, her body telling Josh better than she can to keep touching her like he is. Dizzy with desire, fingers clutching the sheets, she can’t do without him for another moment. 

“Josh,” she says, tugging at his hair. “Josh, kiss me. Please.” It sounds like she’s begging for it, but now that they’re together it’s not like he’ll use it as ammunition for later. Or maybe…? No, he wouldn’t. He wouldn’t. He—

He lets go of her, which might be the cause of actual, physical pain if the look on his face is anything to go by, and pins his forehead to hers, instead. 

“Donna, you have to breathe,” he says, stroking his thumbs on her cheeks.

Only when she sucks in air does she realize she hadn’t been before. The heady, potent smell of sex is hanging in the air, and it’s hot like the surface of the sun. Her chest heaves. Josh can’t seem to help grinding against her leg, but Donna needs a minute, or the right twitch will set her off like a firecracker, and that’s not how she wants it.

Her eyes pop open. Josh is so near that she can’t make out his features. It’s just flushed skin, so that’s where she starts, pressing a series of short kisses to what’s in front of her, tasting the salty sweat there, then roving around his face. He’s panting into her mouth when she guides his hand, sticky from her, between her legs, spreading herself open, showing him exactly where and how fast. She’s slippery wet, and the sound is mortifying, but Donna’s so far gone, gasping for so much air, her hips undulating ever more rapidly, that she can’t bring herself to care. 

“There, there, there,” she says, forcing the words through gritted teeth. 

Their fingers are tangled together, moving in tandem deeper and more forcefully than before. Blue eyes are fixed on brown, and Josh is so, so quiet in a way that he isn’t anyplace else, concentrated solely on her. Donna blinks first. 

“My… My… Mmmm.” The sound comes out garbled, and her body goes rigid.

Her orgasm radiates out from her hips up her spine, forcing her head back against the pillows and a whimper from her lips. It’s satisfying, enough to slake the craving from earlier, but she aches to hold him inside, her insides clenching on nothing. 

Donna relaxes, knowing her muscles are going to be sore, later. 

Josh hauls her to a seated position, her legs like noodles, as the last vestiges of her climax bleed away. The corner of his mouth lifts in a tender smile, and he takes ahold of her face to touch his lips to her temple. 

“You okay?” he asks quietly.

Head spinning, Donna claws at several thoughts. Yes, she is okay, more than okay, and... It is far beyond time that he run out of this newly summoned sexual patience, as well. If he wants wooing, he’s going to get wooing. Merry Christmas, Josh Lyman.

She grips his biceps, digging in her nails. “Kiss me, Josh,” she orders, trying to make it sound like she’s in charge, like he didn’t just reduce her to a string of nerve endings, like her voice didn’t quaver over his name. 

His skin is damp with perspiration as she skims a hand down his side, the sensitive skin puckering. He’s ticklish there. Donna opens her mouth to laugh at him, but that’s when Josh does kiss her, sloppy now, with less finesse. He might finally be on that precipice where she’s wanted him all along. 

Perfect.

Without any warning, Donna pulls away and licks her hand, then reaches between his hips and strokes him from base to tip and back again, twisting. His cock is hot, so hot, and just as flushed as the rest of him. She can imagine well the torment he’s feeling, revels in it. 

Josh’s mouth drops open like he’s about to shout at someone, choking on some sort of appalling curse. Before she can even wrest a groan from his lips, he grabs her wrist and squeezes, effectively ending her fun. 

“Don’t…” he says, his eyes screwed shut. “Don’t do that.” 

“But why?” Donna asks, back to her teasing ways, tracing the underside of his hand with a fingernail, then crawling close enough that her breasts press lightly against his chest as she breathes. “I’m supposed to be wooing you.” 

Trying again, she reaches between his legs, but Josh wrenches her arm away. 

Donna grimaces. Pain quakes up her arm for a split second, and he kisses the skin of her wrist in apology. If he really hasn’t been chased before, there are things she can do, ways she can drive _him_ to madness, that they just haven’t had time or patience for, yet.

She licks into his mouth, hoping to match what he’s given her.

Reaching out to cup her breasts, his thumbs brush over her nipples. Breathing heavily, like it’s his duty to inform her of some terrible piece of information, Josh says, “Consider me wooed. Really.” 

Donna’s coy smile dims, not positive she believes him. His eyes are huge in his face, every line in his body tense, and she _is_ certain that if they wait too much longer, he’ll combust from the inside. “If you’re sure,” she says, turning to the drawer with the condoms and lube. 

“I’m sure.” He grabs the packet from her and rips it open, rolling the condom over himself before she can even protest. A mimicry of her earlier pursuit of him, he tugs Donna into his lap. They’re nose to nose as he reverently traces all the parts of her that jut out: points of her shoulders, collarbone, knobs on her wrists, sharp elbows, coming to rest on her ribs. He’s managed to find all the parts she used to get teased about, all the parts that she hated about herself, that made her feel _other_. Josh makes her feel beautiful with a well-placed touch, a single look. How does he do that? “How uh… how do you want…?”

Donna’s heart constricts, her throat closing up. Now is not the time to grin at him. He’d think she was being condescending or laughing at him, but he’s so… He’s so…

She holds her hands up in an _I come in peace_ gesture, then warms the lube on her fingertips when he doesn’t fling her away. Slowly, but not so slowly that Josh thinks she’s messing with him again, she works to cover his cock. His head drops to Donna’s shoulder, and he groans. Two hours ago, she would have given anything to have Josh pound into her, fast and straightforward, but unraveling each other like this, feeling his mouth spasm against her shoulder as she strokes him, is deeply satisfying, too. 

“Okay,” she says, tilting his face so she can kiss him once she’s done. “Help me up.”

As a perfect cap on the day, it’s slow. Maddeningly, deliciously slow. 

He raises her with a tight grip around her waist, fingers burning like coals. Donna feels delicate, filmy, like light could shine through her, and she shudders even before he begins to lower her. She widens her legs to sink down and gasps, breathing in staccato, at the first press of him. 

Josh positions her knees in a bracket around his hips. 

“Jo—,” she says, the word breaking off as she slides completely onto him. It’s slick and warm, and he’s filling her up, tight inside. There’s a fizz of excitement in her veins, sexy like bubbles in a champagne coupe, blood rushing in her ears. “Josh,” she says again, grating it out. 

For a moment there’s nothing but their breathing, the crinkle of sheets under them as Josh adjusts his legs. He places an open-mouthed kiss on the side of Donna’s neck, a thanksgiving or benediction, maybe, and looks at her like she’s some kind of divine creature. 

He says her name. “Donnatella.”

Maybe she is divine; maybe she’s the Ghost of Christmas Present; maybe Josh is as bowled over by her as he sounds.

Donna rocks against him. His mouth twitches the first time their hips collide, and a new wrinkle appears on his forehead. She puts her hands over his, securing his hold on her, because she’s not entirely sure she can sit upright at this point without his help, butterflies in her stomach. 

“Keep touching me.” Her voice is low and throaty, commanding.

Josh nods in understanding, and his hands roam across her breasts, up and down her back, remaining soft and frustratingly gentle. Donna marvels at the contrast between her ivory skin and the ruddiness of his, how well they complement one another. She kisses him as she rises and falls, his lips lush and pliant beneath hers. They gasp and sigh, each in turn, when they coil together at a particularly gratifying angle. 

The magnificent joy of having him like this is not lost on her. The years of torturously light hands on her back, the occasional lingering hug, the time he’d accidentally brushed against her chest, all made manifest here, twisted among their bedsheets. Sometimes, after the more discouraging days, all she could do was scream into a pillow and hope her fingers would satisfy the longing she’d locked inside. 

They never did.

Having Josh inside her, now, makes her feel whole in a way she never has before, like they’ve reached some sort of conclusion, here. Donna shivers. 

She looks down where she’s taking him in and out, the slippery disappearance of his flesh into hers. His nose is pressing against her collarbone, but his eyes are closed, and Donna can’t stand not seeing their affecting depths. There’s no rush anymore, so she slows her hips to tilt his head. His gaze is dark and full of feeling in the dim light, eyes big and luminous. His hips follow the bow and press of hers, steady.

Biting Josh’s bottom lip, she soothes it with her tongue when he inhales, startled. His hands leave her back and float up to frame her face. He smiles at her, the sweet one not reserved for anyone else, a soft expression that says something she isn’t quite ready to hear, and Josh isn’t ready to speak out loud, yet. 

Baffling herself, Donna feels tears begin to well in her eyes. No. She doesn’t want to cry. That’s not… That’s not what this is supposed to be.

Josh’s smile only grows and he—thanks to some small mercy—doesn’t say anything, doesn’t tell her to stop being a baby, just tucks her hair behind her ears and kisses her so deep she bends backwards over his arm. He wedges a hand between their bodies, circling unhurried fingers around her clit. Donna jolts and stops him to place his hand where she wants it, guiding him, again. 

“Are you… Is that good?” he asks, his voice heavy with need.

“Oh—” she says when he finally gets it. “Oh, yeah. That’s good. That’s…” Her brain falters over the words.

She lets go, returning her hands to the side of his face, tipping their foreheads together. They’re so close that they’re breathing in the same air, and Donna swears she can hear what he’s thinking. She imagines his big brain has been reduced to grunts, groans, and flashes of sensation, just like hers.

It starts as a white-hot heat in her toes. Chasing the feeling, Donna tenses and drags her hips back and forth in Josh’s lap faster and faster, locking her arms around his neck. He’s scattering kisses between her breasts and on her chest, each one a lingering ember of warmth. His hand is still trapped between them, keeping time with her hips. The sensation rolls itself up her left calf and spirals into the base of her spine. 

She’s a mess of disjointed twitching, angling her hips this way and that, desperate for friction. Either he bends, or she tilts at the right angle, but for a second Donna sees spots on the edge of her vision, like before when she was holding her breath. Josh hits the spot again with a strong thrust, leaning back so their bodies are in a vee, and she peaks with a whimper. 

All other sound winks out. 

She clenches down on him and quivers in his arms for a long, exquisite moment. The ripples of pleasure force her eyes shut, her cheek pressing against the side of Josh’s face. He catches her and pulls her close as her hips chase the full wave of orgasm.

Allowing her to sag against him, he lets her rest there in his lap, motionless and limp for a moment, gulping in air like she’s just run a marathon. Releasing her iron grip around his neck, Donna kisses his ear because he’s just… so wonderful. 

When she finally lifts her head from his shoulder, Josh’s mouth is open in astonishment, his eyes liquid. His upper lip is shiny with sweat, and the sight of him so undone makes Donna want to cry, again.

“Donna, I—” 

She kisses him on his ear, his temple, his cheek, finally opening his mouth with her tongue. It’s sloppy and wet, and she comes away with a string of spit on her chin. Josh swipes it away with his thumb. Swooping down on the juncture between his neck and shoulder, she alternates between sucking on the spot and lightly nipping at it. Donna relishes the idea that he’ll be embarrassed tomorrow when he sees the red mark in the mirror as he’s getting dressed. He’ll be carrying it with him when he’s talking to important people and doing important things in important places. 

Still hard inside her, his hips push gently but insistently against hers. Too weak to do anything else, Donna places his hands on her hips, ensuring he’s really squeezing, and gestures to have him move her. Josh seems to be bashful about it, controlling how fast and how intensely he’s pulling her down on his cock. His mouth is a slash across his face. His eyes are wild. He’s dripping with sweat, and Donna can tell that he’s struggling internally somehow.

He’s too in his own head, too focused on whatever it is, so she bites down on his neck, desperate to put an end to it. That’s all it takes. Reflexively, Josh slams her onto him, hard, and he shudders. It’s another one, two more thrust and pull combinations, and his stomach flexes as he empties himself inside her. 

Trembling under her fingers, the corners of his mouth twitch up into a smile. They’re both going to have marks on their skin tomorrow, achy muscles. Donna feels pleasantly mellow, at ease, like hot tea with honey has slid down the back of her throat.

With a weighty groan, as gently as he can, Josh pulls out and lowers them to the bed. 

“You’re…” Donna says, breathing heavily. “You’re very good at that.” 

He presses a kiss to her neck and rolls away. “Yes, I’m—“ 

“Quite something. Yeah, I know.”

They both lie on their backs for a minute, letting the sweat cool on their bodies, dazed. Josh leans over the bedside to throw out the condom, then touches their fingertips together to make sure they’re still connected even in this small way. 

“I think I pulled something in my back,” he says. 

Donna snorts with laughter and half-heartedly smacks him across the stomach. She shivers and recognizes the familiar, inconvenient pressure in her pelvis. Dragging herself up with difficulty, like her legs are cast in concrete, she crawls on all fours to kiss him one last time, her fingers tracing along his hairline. 

“I’ll be right back,” she breathes into his mouth. 

Josh watches her go, a crooked smile on his face. 

The fluorescent bathroom light is jarring compared to the soft yellow of the bedroom, and Donna has to blink to make her eyes adjust. She looks at her reflection in the mirror. Her skin is flushed pink over her cheeks and down her chest. It looks like she rolled in a haystack with her tousled and untidy hair. Sex hair. 

Pinching and prodding at her face, pulling her mouth wide, she stares at herself. Does she look different? She _feels_ different. More grown up or sure of herself or something. Maybe she’s been reshaped into her superior form.

She finally smiles back at her reflection, utterly content. Her eyes are sparkling underneath the messy mascara, and she feels like she could float back to bed. If Donna-of-October had known that Donna-of-December would be this happy, this untroubled, she’d have had a much easier time of it. 

Feeling a cool draft coming in from somewhere, she quickly uses the toilet, washes her hands, and brushes her teeth. With a light heart, she goes to hunt down a pair of clean pajamas and put the pizza in the fridge. 

Josh is just hopping back into his boxers when she returns to the bedroom. She smiles because half his hair is matted down, and he looks tired but pleased with himself.

Donna crawls into bed. She snuggles in, flipping the comforter over her shoulder, and kicks off her socks under the sheets, even though she just put them on. There will be a collection by the footboard within the week.

Josh comes around the bed to her side and goes down on his knees, a joint popping. He rubs a hand over her hair. “I’m…” he says, pausing for a long moment, just staring at her in their bed. “I’m… I’m just…” Josh seems to chew on his words for a moment. It takes longer than Donna likes, but he finally looks back at her, weirdly insecure in a way that she’s rarely seen when he has something to say. “I’m glad I got to spend the day with you. It’s the nicest Christmas I’ve been a part of.”

She’s never sure which of them looks more surprised when he says things like that. 

His face relaxes when Donna whispers, “Me, too.” She slithers a hand out to cup his jaw, but he intercepts it, kissing her fingertips instead.

Josh tucks her hand back in and leans close to kiss her properly, his lips dry against hers. “I’m sorry I didn’t get you a Christmas present, this year,” he says, rueful.

Donna smiles. “You got me a plant and sex. Those count in my book.”

“Oh, well, if I’d known that’s all it took…”

“Go brush your teeth, Joshua,” she says, pulling a clump of blankets to her chest, certain he can hear her pounding heart. A laugh leaves him in a gust, but he does as she says.

“Yes, Donnatella.”

She’s breathing deep and even by the time he gets back, lips quirked up in a smile.

**Author's Note:**

> AHHHHHHHHHH! That's all.


End file.
